Ghosts
by nightmistral
Summary: Another time, another place, but the same war. Battle raged, masking the cries of the injured and dying. In this madness, there could only be one victor; death was the lot of all others.... To be a Turk, was to kill.


disclaimer: yeah, right, i own ff7. who am i fooling? -_- the only person i actually **own** here is Jake Kelly. and he'd dead. great.

Another time, another place, but the same war. Battle raged, masking the cries of the injured and dying. In this madness, there could only be one victor; death was the lot of all others.

A shell exploded nearby, shattering limbs and splitting skulls, driving away enemy and ally alike. Nearby, a unifrom screamed raggedly, writhing on the blood-soaked earth. All thoughts of fighting, of winning were stripped away, leaving only the primal instinct to survive in the blody face of carnage. Before he could even stagger to his feet and lurch to safety, crimson blossomed on his shirt, blood splaterring like the fallen petals of some flower. He was a raw recruit, barely over fourteen and still too weak to fully shoulder his standard-issue rifle, but regardless, he was dead, as were his comrades. There would be no more laughter, no more talking to his friends, no more pursuit of the girls. His life had ended as abruptly as the battle had begun.

Standing over the fallen cadet, Vincent Valentine showed no emotion even as he reloaded his gun. Crimson orbs, dark and empty as always, reflected the sprawled body of the young body, eyes still glaring in the throes of death. To be a Turk, was to kill. He raised his gun and fired again, this time hitting the renegade commander square in the head. It was purely reflex, to aim and pull the trigger, feel the recoil as the gun slammed back into his arm, and watch as his victim bit the dust. These were no longer people, but hindrances - in other words, flesh-and-blood targets, free for the killing. He felt nothing, just a faint sense of satisfaction that he'd done his job, and done it well. Pride was something that was not tolerating in Shinra, a lesson that Vincent had taken to heart. The only thing that mattered was to serve wholeheartedly, as he was.

Jake Kelly, aged twenty-five, SOLDIER first-class, stumbled backwards, hissing in pain as the bullet smashed into his forehead, lodging in his skull. It might have killed an ordinary man, but not a mako-enhanced soldier. Still, it was enough to cripple him. He lay there limply, watching the Turk come closer, gun barrel aimed at him like an accusing mouth. It struck him as ironic that the man that he'd shared meals with a few weeks ago was going to kill him, and he laughed, almost hysterical, in a mixture of sorrow and anger. No fear, though - the mako more than took care of that. "So, I guess it's the end of the line for me, ain't it Valentine? I'd never thought that it'd be you against me, but life's shit."

Vincent watched him coldly, eyes narrowed, giving nothing away, "You broke the rules, SOLDIER. You're dead."

Jake nodded. It was more of a helpless jerk, really, but his voice, though weak, was clear,"I expected that. Shinra plays us out, each and every time. Kill me, but it'll come back to you."

The gun jerked up sharply, and a SOLDIER breathed his last. His head flopped back, lolling weakly on the ground as his eyes glazed over. Satisfied, Vincent pulled out his PHS,"Sir? Valentine reporting. Threat successfully neutralised."

"Good. Return to HQ as soon as and await further instructions." Veld was abrupt as usual.

Nodding faintly, the Turk began to walk away, his job done. But in doing so, he failed to hear the SOLDIER's dying words,"....always...comes back... Valentine...."

Many years later, Vincent Valentine, ex-Turk and AVALANCHE fighter, faced a squadron of SOLDIERS on a desolate rooftop. Pleased that they had managed to corner the elusive gunman, their leader smiled coldly,"You're dead."

Shots rang out, followed by a wild roar as Chaos took over, obliterating everything in his path. The SOLDIERS were flung back by the impact, tossed into the air like so many limp rag dolls. When they had finally recovered, Chaos was but a receding speck in the sky. And as the night sky rushed by on leathery wings, the image of a dying SOLDIER and his last words rose unbidden to haunt the gunman. Like the soldier from long ago, his past had finally caught up with him. Shinra would crush him, or die trying. Chaos laughed mirthlessly, a rhythmless creaking sound,"It all comes back. The only question now is whether we allow them to kill us, or destroy them first." Deep within, locked behind golden eyes, Vincent agreed silently.


End file.
